Chasing Hills

I can see the summit. It looks too far to reach. My legs will give out halfway up the hill. My lungs can’t sustain this pace. I should turn around before the incline begins. This is far enough.

Is it far enough or can I do more? Even if my pace slowed to a walk, as long as I kept moving, I could make it. This really is not too difficult. It’s too difficult for me, but my trust is in another. He has led me on routes like this before, I can make it.

Have I done routes like this? Did those really prepare me for this hill? Those were not a true test of endurance. I did not really prove anything climbing those hills. He was not really leading me up those hills. Anyone can run those hills.

Can anyone run these hills?

Yes, if their strength comes from another.

Does my strength come from him or myself? Is he running with me or am I running alone?

I can run this hill. The incline starts here.

This is steep, but it should level out soon giving me a short break.

It’s not leveling out. The trail keeps going up. It has to end soon. When will it end? I can’t see the end. The end is too far. I can stop for a short break. I will stop at the next wooden post to walk.

I passed the wooden post. It is stained blood red. It keeps me running, knowing that someone carried his post to my breaking point. I feel stronger now. There is something that will not let me quit. An inner Spirit fighting on my behalf. I tell him to churn the fire, to keep me running.

The incline has gotten steeper. The Spirit was silenced for a moment. My legs are shaking, and my faith is failing. Slick snow laid on the trail has caused me to stumble. I fell forward on the hill, but my hands caught the hillside propelling me forward. I am still running.

Rocks lay spread out on my path. I weave between them, each one with the same ability to inhibit my progression. Though they constantly assail me, they do not block me. Though they are without number, they do not overwhelm me. I step on some loose pebbles causing me to slide back, but my next step instantly regains the lost ground. I am still running.

A light shines over the ridge of the hill. It warms me for a second.

Then the blistering wind hits me bringing back the chills of winter. The light has been hidden by a dark cloud. I can’t feel it’s warmth, only the dropping cold air. A fog is setting in, hiding my steps. I start lifting my feet higher to avoid the rocks, but I do not know what lays ahead of me. I am still running.

I think of my Savior. He carried a cross on my behalf up his hill. How did he have the strength to do that? For the joy set before him, he endured the cross. For what joy I am running? I can see my Father on the summit. I can hear him calling my name. He doesn’t seem so far now.

Could I reach him with the strength I have left? I can feel it fading, the Father’s voice changes into an echo.

There is another running along side of me. One that looks like the Son of Man. I beg him not to pass me by. He runs ahead of me guiding my steps up the hill. The Spirit inside me awakens. I am able to lift my head up to see the remainder of the hill. I am still running.

I can hear others shouting from the base of the hill. They urge me to come back down. They say that there is no need to run. They say that I don’t have the strength for it. They can’t see my Father at the summit. They deny the strength of the Spirit to carry me up the hill. They ask what burden of yours did your savior carry up his hill? They pick up their bags of rocks and call them precious stones rather than weights that keep them from running. They point out the other hills too large for me to climb. My head drops away from my savior and my eyes avert down the hill. They call my name assuring me the valley is filled with comfort.

I consider it, until I see the burning bush on the summit out of the corner of my eye. Its branches are aflame, yet it does not whither. My savior calls my name again to come see the sight. The voices of those in the valley become slurred. I recognize no voice as apprehensible except my Father’s whisper. A smile flashes across my face as my hand strokes the tall grass. The dew covers my legs and fingertips refreshing my joy. A stream gushes from the rocks on high, bringing life to all it flows by. I hit the final switchback leading to one last climb straight up to the summit. I feel the incline leveling out and can see the burning bush in its fiery glory. I hear my Father call my name again and my run turns into a sprint. The Spirit pulls me toward him as I struggle to keep with its tug. As I approach the fire, my run slows to a walk and the Son of Man reaches for my hand. The Son grabs a fiery branch with his left hand and my hand with his right linking me with what would otherwise be an overwhelming flame. I feel at peace for the first time since my run began. I lay near the bush, warming in its flames. I look up and see the Son of Man running to help another up their hill.

The Father looks at me and asks, “What will you do?” So, I run to help the Son of Man in aid of another, chasing hills.